Bleed the Midnight Blue
by pearypie
Summary: The demon, after consuming his master's soul, begins to desire another - the Lady Elizabeth's. But as time goes on, he begins to realize it isn't her soul he wants, but the lady herself. / "She only need call and he would be by her side, on his knees if she wished it, because the sin of lust—the sin of desire—has replaced his hunger. "
1. Chapter 1

And from the deep-shadowed angles

Comes the soft murmur of lovers,

Then through the quiet of dusk

Bright with sudden laughter.

~ 0 ~

From the hushed street, through the portal,

Where soon my lover will enter,

Comes the pure strain of a flute

Tender with passion.

— Sappho

* * *

Perhaps he's always been attracted to her—after all, there was no denying Lady Elizabeth's physical beauty. She looked like a Renaissance, all soft curves and flushed cheeks, draped in fine silks and diaphanous shawls that only served to highlight her pale neck and fine décolletage. Her swan-like throat and delicate collarbones, the soft rise of her breasts and the hourglass of her waist. His former master's fiancée had been painted by the sunrise, blending all the fresh colors of dawn into a single entity of light-filled beauty. She was a Pre-Raphaelite dream whose tears could revive even Icarus.

She did not belong in this lone graveyard, weeping over marble pillars and wilted blue roses. It was a pathetic image, Sebastian conceded. The backdrop was too grey, the sky too overcast, and the fog crept around her ladyship's fallen form like a tiger at midnight. The lady's golden curls had been tucked under a black veil and she was draped in hideous onyx satin but _for heaven's sake_ the crow demon wanted to cry, _it'd been **five** months._ How long did humans mourn over their loved ones? Two, three months? Five months was already excessive but anything more would simply be decadent.

From the plumed black shadows, Sebastian melted forward to gather around Lady Elizabeth in a dark haze that she did not seem to notice. Her eyes were downcast and fresh tears continued to roll down her cheeks.

 _How long was this golden girl going to cry? That boy—selfish and vain—was hardly worth her tears._

"I'm sorry Ciel." Sebastian heard her murmur, voice soft as a raven's wing. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I couldn't take your pain away and I'm sorry that…that you never knew how desperately I wanted you to smile. To be _happy._ " She pressed a linen handkerchief to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her quaking sobs. "P-perhaps you think this whole ordeal is foolish. Me, Lizzy Midford, weeping over veined marble—silly, isn't it?" She tried to smile but the tears continued to flow, falling down her face as Sebastian moved closer, wanting to soak in her lavish grief. "I love you Ciel." She says shakily. "I always will, I promise. So please…please don't be angry with me." Her lower lip trembles. "M-mother thinks it's best and I've put it off for l-long enough. I'm trying so hard to be brave and to move on but every time I close my eyes, I see you Ciel. _You._ Seventeen and blue and beautiful." Her breathing is uneven—as if every word is a knife to her heart. "I'll be getting m-married soon. I don't know who my husband-to-be is—and quite frankly, I can't bring myself to care. I'll do my best to be a good wife and I-I know it's blasphemy to say this but _Ciel,_ " she leans closer, lips almost touching the marble pillar, "you'll always be first in my heart. _Always._ "

* * *

 _Well, well, well._ Sebastian smirks, canines sharp and gleaming in the pitch-black darkness. _Isn't this a sight._ He chuckles, low and malicious, as he watches the lady confess—confess her deepest sins and darkest desires to a chaplain six feet under. _But not to worry, my lady—I've heard your cries._ Sebastian coos, half-intoxicated with greed.

Wasn't it a thing to see—to _know_ —that good, honorable Lady Elizabeth still pines for a dead boy who sacrificed his soul without a second thought and marched into the abyss with weary delight. It was a contradiction too beautiful to witness.

In spite of all this death, in spite of all this decay, Lady Elizabeth still burned bright with a light that threatened to consume all those around her. She brought so much _laughter,_ so much genuine joy to this overcast city with its gothic towers and dour women that Sebastian can't help but gravitate towards her. Even now, as a free demon, he is still chained to this city by a mistress completely unaware of the power she has over him.

She only need call and he would be by her side, on his knees if she wished it, because the sin of lust—the sin of desire—has replaced his hunger. It is the only truth he knows and, after all—demons mate for life, don't they?

 _My lady._

* * *

"We need something lighter, Nina—something that won't attract so much attention." Francis Midford looked rather disdainfully at the low cut French gown Elizabeth was currently dressed in—the material was plum taffeta, with a tight, waist-cinching bodice that deprived Elizabeth of all oxygen and a full skirt that flowed out like a tulip blossom. In truth, her daughter looked exquisite—effortlessly lovely and so melancholy that it was almost beautiful.

 _And yet._

"Surely you can't be serious, marchioness!" The headstrong seamstress cried, rushing forward with a measuring tape wrapped like a scarf around her neck while pincushions decorated her wrists. "I can't take the lady out of this dress now! She looks _stunning_ —no, more than stunning! She looks the very image of beauty—Psyche herself! To deprive your daughter of this dress would be like depriving the sky of all stars! Surely you can make a few concessions? After all, I can't very well dress her like a nun! Think of my reputation— _your_ reputation! Why, even now there's talk that Lady Elizabeth might be joining a convent in the south of France if she—"

" _Enough,_ Nina." Francis turned away to face Elizabeth, silent as she now was. It'd become a common occurrence after the death of Ciel and while Francis was hardly the doting mother, she worried for her daughter—her _only_ daughter.

She did not speak unless spoken to and remained so courteous and polite that Francis wanted to scream. Where was her bold, high-spirited girl with the fiery eyes and bright smile? Did Ciel snatch her away when he died too? What more could death take, Francis mourned, after it'd already deprived her of her mother, her father, her brother, her nephew and now, she touched her daughter's pale cheek, her dear, darling Elizabeth.

"Mother." The girl with the golden hair addressed, eyes blank and unseeing. Around them, Nina continued to bustle and sigh, collecting swatches of fabric and rolling up piles of organza, kindly pretending not to listen. "What is it?"

Francis resisted the urge to smash a window. "What do you think, Elizabeth?" She said at last, knowing full well her daughter would not speak of her heartbreaking burden—at least, not without a fight and Francis, while not fond of Nina Hopkins, did not wish to destroy the young woman's store and countertop.

"It's lovely, mother." Elizabeth's fingertips grazed the fabric of her gown but the sparkle in her jade eyes was gone—there was no excitement, no joy to be gained from the delights she previously reveled in.

"Is that all?" Francis, never a weak women, detested the faint hint of sorrow that had somehow seeped into her tone. "You would not object to a more conservative gown? One of lighter color and looser cut?"

"Not at all mother."

"Do you not think this dress is beautiful?" She tried again.

Elizabeth nodded. "But of course I do."

"Do you suppose your future husband would like to see you in it?"

"Perhaps he would."

 _For the love of god_ —Francis's lament was cut short when a gust of cold, January wind blew open the window next to them, throwing pieces of colored fabric and thread into disarray. Satin and lace flew through the store in a wonderful silk cyclone as Nina shouted for all the blasted windows to be closed. The hurried footsteps of her employees could be heard and the rattle of falling needles, colliding mannequins, and windswept buttons added to the cacophony of sound that was now transforming into a migraine of epic proportions.

Returning her gaze to the daughter, Francis was about to order Elizabeth back to the changing room when she saw, with stunned silence, a familiar smile she had not seen since the day Ciel Phantomhive died.

Elizabeth was laughing, emerald eyes bright and curious as she spun around on the little stool, taking in the chaos with ebullient delight. Her curls were almost being caressed by the breeze—an invisible lover's touch—while her dark skirts blew all around her, as if she were standing by a seaside cliff.

"Oh mother look!" Elizabeth pointed giddily, gesturing towards a strange black cloth that was now swirling towards her.

Francis grabbed Elizabeth's wrist. "Come Elizabeth, you're getting changed and we're—"

"One moment mother!" In one swift motion, Elizabeth escaped Francis's grip (an impressive feat in and of itself) and ran towards the gently falling square of cloth, jumping to reach it. A cold gust of gale rose under her feet, almost lifting Elizabeth up as her fingertips met the silken material. "It's a handkerchief, mother!"

From Francis's position on the other side of the room, she could hardly make out anything at all and _really,_ this was all getting _quite_ ridiculous. Straightening her spine, Francis marched over to the open window and with a forceful, almost inhumanly strong tug, slammed the glass panes shut. Gravity took over in a split second, causing the colorful hurricane of chiffon and brocade to slam back onto the ground.

"Wonderful." Francis crossed her arms. "Now get changed—and Nina! Have someone tidy up this mess _immediately._ "

* * *

On the carriage ride home, Elizabeth sat near the window, gloved hands caressing a cool piece of black silk.

 _A handkerchief._

She did not recognize the initials at the bottom—hand sewn, and embroidered with a black lily—made it unique among the aristocracy. After all, no gentleman would dare to carry around a black handkerchief. Too frightening, they would say, too closely associated with _death._

Carefully—and perhaps a touch recklessly—Elizabeth slipped her right hand out of her glove, gently pressing her palm against the water-like fabric. It was cool and smelled of winter plums.

A smile curled on Elizabeth's lips, once again rouged and talkative. Closing her eyes, the golden girl leaned her head against the windowsill, eyes taking in the gothic scenery of London before, at last, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _Dearest lady._ The crow demon chuckled, marveling at her calm. _Sleep well—for tomorrow, we meet again._

* * *

 **\- Psyche: the princess whose beauty surpassed even that of Aphrodite's. She later married the Greek god Eros, son of Aphrodite.**

 **A/N: I posted this fic on AO3 a while ago but someone recommended I should put this on here too so...here it is :)**

 **Reviews appreciated :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Her skin was bruised, littered with red-violet love bites and the jagged scars that came from teeth sinking into flesh. A strange, hazy euphoria overcame Lizzy—as if she'd held her breath too long and sat up too quickly. The whole room was spinning. She was naked, that much she knew, completely nude and lying on a bed of cool silk (or was it satin? Her muddled mind wasn't sure of anything anymore) and her entire body ached with a keen sense of desperation. Of wanton wickedness, of wanting something she should _never_ want, of desiring something should never desire. Her thighs tremble and her breathing is shallow because _god—_

She _wants_ him to a make love to her in the most violent and pleasurable way possible.

A velvet chuckle encased her senses and she _purred_ —like a newborn kitten—as her body writhed against the cool sheets.

"My, my," the voice seemed to smile, "aren't you feeling _bold_ tonight, my lady."

(Whose voice was that? Her mind wanted to scream, _who are you? **Where** are you?_ But her body was compliant and her pulse was racing and _goodness,_ she ached all over. Her legs were already spread and she could feel the slick heat growing between her thighs as the whole room set her skin on fire.)

"Tell me what you want," the voice demanded and she could feel hands caressing her body—elegant, aristocratic hands with nails that seared into her soft, white skin. One hand fondled her left breast, tracing her dusky rose nipple before spreading to caress the silky flesh. She could hear herself whimper, could feel her hips buck up because she _needed_ friction. Skin on skin contact that bruised her flesh and left her sore from exhaustion.

A soft, breathy _oh_ escaped her lips as she envisioned it—she needed rhythm, the steady pulse of him inside her. Her eyes closed and unconsciously, she lifted her hips again, wanting to feel fullness and heat and, _she was so wet—_

 _Oh!_ This time, her exclamation came out with a hint of pain as the hands clamped down on her thighs. _No,_ she wanted to cry, _keep touching me—don't stop._ She felt his palms caressing her skin with a strange gentleness while sharp-edged nails bit into her tender, bruised flesh with a vicious sort of triumph. It was wrong and vile and terrible but she could feel the heat between her legs growing, could hear her heartbeat thrumming, setting the rhythm of the night on edge as she struggled to name what _this_ was.

"More." She managed, "more, more, more, _more._ " She was frustrated now as she began to writhe against the bedsheets, one hand coming to press against her clitoris.

But her fingers were soft and her movements clumsy, unsure of how to pleasure herself properly until he snatched her hand away.

She heard him chuckle again. "My, my." He seemed to smirk and in the span of half a heartbeat, her thighs spread and _oh_ …he thrust one long forefinger inside her—and then another as Lizzy lifted her hips to match his harsh strokes. "You're a greedy girl aren't you?" He murmured, using his free hand to arch Lizzy's back further as a harsh exhale left his own lips.

"W-what's wrong—"

"I could take you here and now, you're so wet." With half-lidded eyes, Lizzy saw that his ruby-amethyst eyes were as hazy as her own—filled with desire and unrepentant lust and for a minute, she forgot how shameful this whole situation was. With his fingers thrumming inside of her and her hot, velvety walls pulsing around his fingers, demanding release before she—

" _Oh!_ " Lizzy gasped when his thumb came to brush against her labia, teasing her until Lizzy's had to bite her own hand to keep from screaming.

"Tell me what you want." His voice, which had once echoed throughout the room, was now focused on her and the cool control had slipped ever so slightly. "Say it out loud."

"That's n-not ladylike." Lizzy managed and for a brief second she felt very much like a brazen hussy, lying naked with a strange man, legs spread and cheeks flushed.

But that was before his thumb and forefinger met that rosy nub between her folds, stroking it measuredly and sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body.

"Faster, please— _oh please,_ go faster." Lizzy panted.

"Say it." The voice crooned teasingly though Lizzy could feel the hard press of his arousal against her leg (was he on top of her?), how it throbbed against her inner thigh and— _fuck propriety._

"Touch me." Lizzy demanded breathlessly, as if a two ton boulder had been thrown onto her chest. "Touch me _here._ " Her right hand pressed against her clit as sweat beaded down her back but before shame could overtake her, his hands left her body and Lizzy wanted to cry out in desperation before his hot mouth kissed her _down there._

What did the poets call it? _The delta of Venus?_ She could barely think when his tongue came to flick and suck at her clit, as if desperate to consume her as he fucked Lizzy with his mouth, tasting her so intimately as his hands clawed into her hips. She barely registered his nails sinking into her skin, drawing small beads of blood as her lips continued to meet his tongue in a hurried, frenzied pace.

"Mmh," he purred in between suckling her vulva and her rosebud center, "I can understand your sentiment now, my lady." He laughs wickedly. "I, too, want _more._ "

Elizabeth could hardly bring herself to disagree. Her delicate hands (which had been clutching at the bedsheets around her) came to rest on top of his head, pulling him closer because _yes,_ his tongue felt _heavenly._ She was warm, wet, and willing and his mouth suckled at her folds so delicately, teeth scraping against her tender flesh as her hips buckled wildly, fingers intertwining in his raven dark hair and tugging him _closer._ His hands spread her legs farther apart as he continued to feast on her nectarine sweet cunt, flicking his tongue in and out and around, placing sly, teasing kisses on the inside of her thighs as his sharp canines bit down on her skin before he would dive back, eating her out until _oh!_

Lizzy didn't know what was happening but she could hear him whispering something against her, could feel her entire body tense as her back arched and lower belly clenched as a burst of white hot heat ran through her body, cumulating at the apex between her thighs and then—

 _Bliss._ Her eyes fluttered closed as warm waves of euphoria rode across her body, as her mind became blank, blocking out reason, sanity, and decency until only one word—one _face_ —came into focus.

"Remember me, my lady," his voice murmured, dropping kisses on her stomach, breasts, and neck. His mouth pressed one last kiss on her body. "And remember this as well but for now," he chuckled, "it's time to awaken."

* * *

Lizzy woke with a start, heart fluttering like a hummingbird in her chest and breathing uneven. Almost unconsciously (and with a hint of desire), she tugged up her nightgown, fingers coming to feel a slick, wet heat between her thighs. Her hand trailed down, feeling the dampness of her silk sheets before a wave of curiosity overtook her; with flushed cheeks and shaking hands, Lizzy threw off the covers and looked, for the first time, down _there._

Her unmarred (untouched) lily-white thighs were a disappointing sight. Free from the ravenous bite and claw marks that had sent waves of pleasure running through her body, that had caused her hips to buck up in a desperate attempt to press herself closer to the wicked mouth that was giving her so much delight...

Slowly, one finger came to stroke her folds; they felt raw and tender, as if someone had sucked, licked, and kissed her maidenhead until she came, head thrown back and all sense of decency forgotten.

This…dream (or was it more of a tortuous nightmare?) had plagued her for the past week and it was wreaking all sorts of havoc on her day to day existence. She'd never considered herself a wanton girl but _goodness,_ it was dreadful to wake up and not see proof of these violent nights etched into her skin. Part of her wondered if she was going mad—if Ciel's death had fractured her mind and sent her sanity running.

The other part of her brain—the wicked, terrible half—thought the whole affair was _funny._ After all, how many young ladies could enjoy _this_ kind of pleasure without the consequences of pregnancy or blackmail? Lizzy knew she was tipping the velvet, falling into silken sin with flushed cheeks and trembling thighs and—

"Lady Elizabeth?" Paula's muffled voice broke through Lizzy's revere, forcing her to crawl back under her satin covers. "Are you awake, my lady? The marchioness would like to see you downstairs—the matter is quite urgent." Slowly, the pale pink doors opened and in came Paula—sweet, dutiful Paula—who was carrying an indecently cut gown and two packages, each wrapped in silver paper.

"Dear Paula, how are you this morning?" Lizzy was grateful her uneven, rapid heartbeat had settled down and she was now able to speak without shaking. "Did mother send these?"

"I'm quite well, young lady," the brunette beamed before glancing down at the bundle in her arms. She did not meet Elizabeth's eyes. "This…" she hesitated, "is a gift. From Lord Grey."

"Charles?" Lizzy was startled. "Well he's certainly keeping himself entertained," she mused, looking at the seductively cut French style gown. She couldn't help the small burst of laughter from leaving her lips—oh, Charles Grey may be an insufferable prat but he was dreadfully amusing. "He thinks he's being clever, doesn't he Paula? Knowing mother will never allow me to wear such a dress in public. He sends it as a gift so I have to wear it—or else I appear ungrateful and boorish." She shakes her head, smile still on her lips. "What a terrible, obvious play!"

Paula set down the shimmering pale green gown—it looked as if a sheath of misty silver was dancing across the fabric and it made Lizzy think of fairies, stolen mischief, and a midsummer night's dream.

"Shall I draw you a bath, my lady?"

"That would be wonderful, yes." Lizzy nodded, picking up one of the silver packages. "Is Charles visiting today?"

"Tonight, my lady." Paula answered, laying out a silk dressing gown and matching slippers. "You—you are fond of Lord Grey aren't you, my lady?"

"Oh, I can stand him well enough." Lizzy answered distractedly, busy untying the silver ribbon to pay too much attention.

"You do seem…happier."

Lizzy's hands faltered for a few brief moments as she remembered the black silk handkerchief, still tucked beneath her pillow. _Well,_ she supposed, _Paula needn't know about that._

"The sunshine makes everything better." Lizzy decided, settling on a half-truth. "And Edward will be coming home soon from Cambridge! I simply can't wait to see him and hear all his stories! He's made the rowing team, just like I knew he would, and Jonathan Andrews—the captain of the cricket team—said that Edward has a very fine chance of making captain in a year or so!"

Paula listened to Lizzy's excited chatter with a sense of relief. It'd been so long since her young mistress sounded so cheerful and carefree; after Lord Phantomhive's death, Midford Manor had become a virtual mausoleum of silence and silent grief. Lord Alexis had been forced to travel away on the queen's business while Lady Francis handled the legal transactions pertaining to the late earl's estate. Lord Phantomhive had given Lady Elizabeth just about everything—his lands, fortune, company…they all belonged to her though it was a pitiful consolation.

Her ladyship cried herself to sleep every day for an entire month after the earl passed. Her sorrow was so great that it had begun to affect Paula as well—just two weeks ago she thought she'd seen a black shadow in the shape of a crow pressing against Lady Elizabeth's window and not three days after, she thought she'd seen piercing electric green eyes looking in through the crystalline glass. It was such an odd apparition that Paula decided not to burden the marchioness with her unnecessary worries—after all, the mistress had much to do. Shadowy figures and lime green eyes were hardly cause for concern.

* * *

So she had seen him. The demon chuckled, not quite surprised but amused all the same. He'd been feeling careless that night, wanting to press the tip of his finger against Lady Elizabeth's rose pale cheek and, against his better judgement, seeped his essence in through a nearby window just as the brown eyed maid entered the room. He'd vanished quickly enough but the incident reminded him that the time was not right—that he needed to wait a few days more before revealing himself to the golden haired girl who now plagued his waking days and tormented nights.

(She truly did taste of summer nectarines—lush and sweet, the taste melting and lingering in his mouth as he continuously devoured her, hands holding her hips firmly in place as she writhed in bed, full breasts warm and soft as he clawed his touch into her skin, wanting her to feel his pulsing ache of desire before her soft pale thighs wrapped around his waist, before he could bury himself in her, virginal and pure as she was.)

 _Lady Elizabeth._

A treacherous thing of beauty she was—made in the image of Apollo, so bright and good, but tied to the underworld, unable to escape. Bound by love, bound by duty.

In many ways, she was simply unattainable. He had planned to wait at least another week; the lady was already on the precipice of giving in, of dreaming and desiring him without question. And, in truth (though he rarely spoke the _whole_ truth), the basic impulse of his demonic essence was now focused on her—solely and completely on this daisy sweet virgin laid out before him, eyes wide and lips full.

He'd nearly lost himself while eating her out, hearing her whimpers and moans but better yet, watching his brazen little vixen press her own fingers against her sweet cunt as he was touching her. Watching her hips rise, desperate for him to fill her—he'd nearly taken her by the shoulders, his nails sinking into her skin before burying himself in her until there was no space left between the two of them. He had felt the pre-cum dripping onto her thigh and was surprised by how aroused he was; usually these fever dreams had very little affect on the demon but seeing a wanton Lady Elizabeth—her skin rosy pale, cheeks flushed red as her nails dug into his scalp, tugging him closer as he nestled himself in between her thighs…

He needed her.

 _Now._ Needed to feel her walls surrounding him as she sat on his lap, moving in tandem as he rocked into her, slowly and then faster and faster until sweet Lady Elizabeth fell into the throes of unholy passion.

Glancing inside the window, he caught sight of the silver package still being held in Elizabeth's hands and a rather grotesque scowl appeared on his countenance.

Charles Grey was becoming something of nuisance.

Sebastian (the name he simply could not shed because of the way _she_ sighed it in the throes of unconscious sleep) had not planned on the silver earl's persistence. His original plan had been one of smoke and stardust but now, the demon decided, it was not enough to simply occupy her mind—he needed to consume her, body and soul. The fact that she had _laughed_ and _smiled_ at the thought of Charles Grey sent an involuntary spear of anger coursing through him; demons were composed of selfishness and want and the lust he felt, now intermingled with the black hatred of one yearned for control, infuriated him.

How unfair it was, he thought, for her to think of another when _she_ was the only thing that occupied _his_ mind every minute of every day.

Admittedly, this was not part of his plan but the chessboard was set—the kingless queen now needed a knight and the demonic delights of years past would serve him well.

A butler may have not been the ideal husband for a young lady of standing but Sebastian Michaelis of the Belle Époque—inventor, writer, and patron of the arts—would certainly stir her imagination. Part of him wanted to end Charles Grey by way of execution but that in and of itself would only serve to imprint the man's memory in Lady Elizabeth's mind, since she was so prone to compassion and empathy. No, she would need to dismiss him on her own terms.

But that didn't mean he couldn't help expedite her decision.

* * *

 **A/N: Um, filler chapter that's like 90% smut. I'm sorry XD (Also: the year is 1893. Ciel died in 1892 at the age of 17)**

 **I'll try to pick up the pace next chapter because let's face it, Sebastian's horny af lol**


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